


My Condolences.

by Bleach_ed_Na_tsu



Category: Katekyou Hitman Reborn!
Genre: Character Death, Depression, Family, mafia
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-28
Updated: 2013-07-28
Packaged: 2017-12-21 15:21:11
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,052
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/901813
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bleach_ed_Na_tsu/pseuds/Bleach_ed_Na_tsu
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>We often hear about Nono, Tsuna, and Xanxus; but we often forget that there were three other heirs to Vongola’s throne. Nono’s sons were glorified and precious, they had hopes, they had dreams, but they also had a family. The son’s of Nono’s guardians were to be the new Decimo’s guardians- friends and cousins to Enrico, Massimo, and Federico - they had been trained and groomed for only that job. When their first, second, and finally third heir and friend were shot down long before their time, their hearts broke and their resolves thrived. They were determined, grieving as they were, to not let another heir die.</p>
            </blockquote>





	My Condolences.

Nono watched, cold and emotionless as his third son was lowered into the ground. His mind went back to the months before when his other sons were also buried, the brothers, now sleeping in eternal peace, slumbered next to each other on the family plot, next to their mother, and eventually, where Nono would also rest. But not for a while.  
It was not a father’s duty to bury his children, never, in no place and at no time was it their duty, for the children were the ones to bury their parents, a passing of the crown, a rite of passage.  
Nono’s children were his life, he lived to be a father, and he was so glad that his beloved was no longer in the world of living, she would have been more heart broken them himself to bury her children. Nono could remember the joy and uncontrolled beauty in the woman each time she fell pregnant and had told him about his newest son on the way.  
Of course, neither knew that they would later bury the same sons long before their time.  
Coyote walked up to his long time friend and wrapped a thick arm around the shaking, weakened shoulders. The last time the large man had felt his friend so weak was before their training, when they were but boys. To feel the shaking strain again after so many years, Coyote’s stomach churned uncomfortably.  
“We should be going home, old friend. Staying out here will do your health and your heart no repair.”  
Brow Nie Jr. and Ganauche hung back. They were the youngest of all the guardians but a fair number of years. They did not truly know death or the sheer grief that would overwhelm a man having lost even a single child. But both men could imagine it now, for only recently had their own wives graced them with heirs.  
Schnitten Barbanters did not move to comfort his friend immediately, he could not spout comforting drivel to ease a wounded heart, and all he could do was fortify the barriers and try to allow Nono the moment of pain and suffering. He was not a man of comfort, but he hoped the pain of loss and imagined the loss of three sons was something he never felt.  
Visconti could think of one or two snide remarks to harp off as he watched Timoteo be led off towards the waiting Limo, but he was smart and kind enough to keep his vulgar mouth shut. He had sacrificed a lot for Vongola, his careers, his wife, even his body and soul. It was all in the hopes that the dreaded Mafia continue, but now he saw little left for Vongola’s continuation, and it burned a deep place in his heart to see the newly dug grave, its neighbour not even having layer of grass growing yet.  
Bouche Corquant was the final guardian to leave the burial ground; he did this for the simple fact that he could not let Timoteo see the sheer anguish in his eyes. He was a master of faces and masks, one of the more stand-off-ish men of Nono’s generation he was often mistaken for cruel when the reality of the matter was far different. This final death of Federico was the ‘straw that broke the camel’s back’ and Bouche felt it was his duty not to let Timoteo see his pain.  
He wasn’t the only one of course, he was simply the only one overwhelmed by the loss of the third Vongola son. Each and every guardian had been there for all three of Timoteo’s sons’ births and for every step for their growth. They were simply better able to hide it as the rain sheeted down. Maybe the tracks on their faces were their true grief let free.  
Through all this, through the pain, through the burials, and through the anguish of searching and choosing a new heir there were six others feeling the pain and pressure.  
The Ninth’s guardians each had one son and these boys grew up on Vongola ground with their fathers and the three Vongola boys. Each guardian was a proud, respectful father, teaching their son’s the ways of the Mafia and the family, not one man could say that their sons disappointed them in any way.  
Alexander was Coyote’s son, red-headed and muscular he was of a similar build to his father. He had slick hair and the greenest eyes possible- from his mother- like his father he was a family man, enjoyed telling stories and often looked and acted far older than he was. Like his father too he had storm flames.  
Stephano was Schnitten Barbanter’s only son, black haired, blue eyes; Stephano was the diplomat of the group of brothers. He was more open than his father with a kinder, softer disposition. He has a soothing presence, though was not of rain flames- like his father- and instead had mist flames. Both he and Alexander were the same age as Enrico, both being born just a few months before Timoteo’s son.  
Fiorde was the youngest and son of Ganauche III. Like his father he had thick blonde hair and quite a lean body, unlike his father he was quiet and withdrawn, harbouring instead of lightning flames rain flames. That didn’t mean he was difficult, Fiorde found himself able to fit in with everyone, was rather smart, and being the baby of the group- seventeen years younger than the oldest members- he was adored and babied more than any other ‘brother’.  
Matthew was the second youngest, Brow Nie Jr’s only son he was fifteen years younger than the oldest member of the group he was loud and brash, more like Ganauche than his own quiet father. Matthew was a sun-flame user and was already quite versed in using them- especially on himself and Fiorde when they got scrapes and bumps. For a young child Matthew was observant and adaptable in a way that made people do everything he wanted before they realised that they were doing it.  
James was two years older than Massimo and was the only son of Bouche Croquant. James was easily influenced by his father with heavily pierced ears and tattoos all over his body, his features were rather angular but there was a softness to his body-shape and a paleness to his skin that he received from his late mother. Unlike his father James possessed Lightning flames and had an attitude more ‘up-in-your-face’ than his father, seeing as James was typically found around Visconti it wasn’t really surprising.  
Serious was Visconti’s son, he was built similarly to his father, with rather shark cheekbones and a short stature, his face was aged to the point of looking in his twenties when he was starting to grow a beard at sixteen. Serious was rather broad, unlike his father, and was quite happy to be surrounded by this ‘brothers’ and the various members of Vongola’s estate. What did rub off on Serious was his father’s severe sarcasm and rather brutal humour, apart from James, Serious was the roughest boy of the lot. Seeing as he wasn’t even out of his teens no one really caught him out for his rough tongue and vulgar language.  
The six boys live in the Vongola mansion alongside their fathers and Timoteo and had done so since their births. It wasn’t any kind of written law, but each of Timoteo’s guardians wanted to be a part of their sons’ lives and had asked their boss the favour of raising their boys within Vongola grounds. But they hadn’t really had any need to ask Timoteo, the man saw Family above all else and was happy to invite each any every boy into the family.  
What no man was expecting was the bond that would form between their children as they met and grew. Most of the man supposed it was because they were children and seeing as no other children frequented the Vongola mansion they made do with what they had, but when you really took the time to watch the interactions and try to see in a way that the children saw, well, anyone could tell that the boys had become a family in their own right.  
It was funny to see a type of hierarchy form with Enrico at the top followed by Massimo and Federico before each guardian fell into place easily, forming what looked like a reflection of Vongola’s higher echelon; even though the children had no knowledge of the way Vongola worked.  
From the first meeting, as they grew, learnt, and developed, the bond between the nine boys did not change or waver. Through time it grew stronger, and the trust each had in the other could be observed simply in the way that they could smile so openly and truly around each other without fear of rebuke or torment.  
Their bonds were so strong that when Enrico became official heir on his twelfth birthday he had announced Alexander’s position as Strom guardian, Stephano as mist, James as lightning and Serious as Cloud guardian, this was not officially announced to the Mafia world, but was the official word in Vongola. When Matthew and Fiorde began displaying their abilities Enrico took long deliberation in choosing them for their respective positions. Though, in the end he decided that he and his brothers were strong enough to protect the children until they could return the favour.  
It was then Stephano and Alexander were twenty-three, James was twenty, Serious was seventeen, Matthew was eight and Fiorde was six when things started to go terribly, terribly wrong.  
Stephano, James and Serious had been lounging in their communal sitting-room when Massimo has charged into the room, tears streaking his face, and shaking as if he were every single earthquake personified. All three boys had jumped up quickly to approach their brother, surprised at the change in demeanor.  
Massimo was the most arrogant of brothers; he was haughty and assured that he would be the best boss had he been first born. He was the largest of the brothers and the most academically intelligent, though when it came to the real world he could be rather naive. He was also completely and undoubtedly bonded with his two brothers. Though he wouldn’t admit it.  
To see him a babbling, crying mess had Stephano, James and Serious on alert immediately. Stephano guided the mess of a –nineteen year old at the time- man to the couch, rubbing comforting circles on his back as Serious flitted to the windows and James to the door- hands on their weapons- looking for threat.  
“Mas, what’s eating you?” the seventeen year old Serious had gasped when he was assured that there was no immediate threat.  
“Mas, what’s wrong?” when Serious’ brash attitude didn’t work Stephano had tried calm certainty that an older man could provide.  
Babbled sobs met the three boys’ ears until finally coherent words broke between the sobs and solidified the beginning of the downwards spiral in Vongola.  
“E-Enrico’s dead, he was shot down in a fight.”

XXXXXX

Enrico’s funeral had been a tight, orderly affair. It was officially declared and was private to Nono’s generation which was a relief. None of the children took Enrico’s death well, especially Fiorde. The young boy had sobbed for weeks after he was told about Enrico’s death, and at the funeral not even his young father could calm him. But the boy was only eight at the funeral.  
Fiorde didn’t really understand death, being only six, but he fed off of his brother’s mood and was also in tears during the arduous, emotionally wrecking service to lay Enrico to eternal rest beside his mother who had passed on not three years prior.  
A week later Massimo was officially established as Vongola’s heir and things calmed down somewhat. Training resumed, not that an heir’s death would change much.  
Things calmed down for a while, Enrico’s killer was swiftly but brutally taken down, and the visits to the grave became less about mourning and more about closure. Even Matthew was finally able to talk about ‘Enrico did this’ or ‘Enrico did that’ without becoming a hysterical mess. They weren’t forgetting their brother, but at least his memory was becoming something less wounding.  
Massimo wasn’t the most eligible for boss hood, but that didn’t matter. He was loved and loved back. Just like Enrico he was loyal and smart, his guardians would need to look for different signs of unease or worry than with Enrico, because Massimo was a different person, but their love for their brother, and his love for them made it all worth it in the end.  
A year passed with little trouble, Massimo has matured, but seeing as he was only nineteen when his brother died and he was suddenly crowned heir people expected the outburst of grief and rebel he displayed from time to time, but at twenty with love and support from his father, brothers and uncles he was becoming reliable and quite the opponent in the battle of the Mafia.  
He got himself into trouble from time to time, his quick mouth and quicker mind led him astray or just ‘annoyed the fuck’ out of people, in James’ words. But he was learning to keep his mouth shut when needed and was quickly figuring out how to use the smart-ass mind of his to his advantage.  
But only a year and a half after his brother’s death Federico came bursting into the dining room where Serious and Matthew were eating lunch. The young man – almost eighteen at the time- was green in the face, tears threatening to spill as he collapsed into Serious’ lap sobbing and bawling clinging for dear life to his brother.  
Serious, catching onto what was happening had sent Matthew to get one of the guardians or Alexander- or even the aloof son of a gun James at that point- before turning back to the sobbing wreck in his arms.  
“Federico, please tell me it’s not what I think it is.”  
Schnitten and Coyote burst into room just as Federico’s sobs became understandable; their son’s hot on their heels. Their faces were masks of shock and panic as they watched a mirror of Massimo’s actions not so long ago as the youngest son crumbled and broke. The weakest, kindest boy was physically breaking under the grief of his words.  
“It was fratello’s sharp mouth; that sharp-fucking mouth of his got him a one-way ticket to the bottom of the lake.” Any other time the men in the room would have laughed at the child’s use of swear words- because the boy despised them- but then they were fenced by sobs and screams the man could only grab their sons before their knees met ground.  
They’d lost another one.

XXXX

Massimo’s funeral was far more public, but that was generally because the allies of Vongola knew that Timoteo was desperate for support, the friends of Vongola gathered to mourn Massimo, because many of them knew the boy personally and had been astounded by his change.  
But there were those who came for political reasons, they were the snide men and women at the back of the service, hiding behind veils of black and umbrellas against the soft rain fluttering through the glade.  
“He was a fool, the boy couldn’t hold his tongue.”  
“I’m surprised it didn’t happen earlier.”  
“I knew he wouldn’t make a good boss, not with Enrico’s legacy over him.”  
The whispers were loud and disgusting, each one of the guardians, Nono’s and ‘Decimo’s’ seethed with pure blood-lust. Every person gathered could see the winces in Timoteo’s form as his sons were slandered, and each person wanted to rip the throats from the offenders.  
“Shut your whoring mouths you ungrateful scum. We are here to mourn a great man; if you can’t keep your opinions to yourself I will personally escort you out of here. Be respectful of the living and the dead, useless fucking trash.”  
At Stephano’s words the Dons bowed and stepped back, even if he wasn’t officially announced as Rain guardian, everyone knew that Schnitten Barbanters’ son was diplomatic and polite; he was soothing and calm, never quick to the mark, but not slow either. They were in true physical danger if even he was riled by their remarks then they were in the wrong.  
“Calm yourself son, they are not worth your time.”  
“I understand that, but Dad, Massimo worked so hard.” Tears traveled down the boy’s face even if his voice had been trained not to show a single wound.  
“He did, he was a worthy heir.”  
“The why did he have to go an’ die?”  
Schnitten’s face contorted in grief when his son’s shoulders began shaking under his hands, “I can’t answer that son. There is no answer for something like that.”  
Of all the guardians it was Stephano that Massimo went to for advice and help controlling his tongue and his actions. Stephano wasn’t the most open and kind, but he was the best at hiding his intentions and manipulating others; something Massimo was determined to learn.  
Of all the guardians, Stephano knew the sacrifice Massimo went through to become worthy of his elder brothers place.   
What was it all for?   
To end up drowning like a fool.

XXXXXXXX

Another week later, on Federico’s eighteenth birthday that he was announced official heir of Vongola. It pained everyone to watch on, because with each growing day Federico grew sicker and weaker. He was grieving harshly, terrified of his own death and the future of Vongola, never had Federico expected he would become Decimo.  
He was favoured over Massimo, no one was unaware of this, but he was the baby of Vongola, he was gentle and sweet. Clumsy and sometimes clueless. He wasn’t athletic or very academic; he was a musician and had a rather weak constitution; the grief and stress making him sicker than before.  
Alexander, Stephano, James, Serious, Matthew and Fiorde did what they could, Fiorde even going as far as learning to cook Federico’s favourite meal so he could deliver it to him. All of them hoping that they could get just one smile to lift the pale lips just like it used to only two years ago.  
Nothing seemed to help and Federico was moved out of the mansion to a small town to recuperate, he seemed to heal some, surrounded by the kind town’s folk. He was determinedly protective and grew to feel that the small town of maybe five-hundred people were family. Each of his ‘official’ guardians visited him often, helping him train, giving him paperwork, and even discussing the possibility of moving their main ‘headquarters’ to the small town, ensuring the protection of it’s wonderful people.  
A month later their fathers gathered them in their communal living room to inform them of the fire that had spread through half of Vigolo.  
It was Matthews screams of anguish that started the torrent of tears in the hardened men and children.  
Their last brother was gone.

XXXXX

Federico’s funeral was an empty affair where only the ghosts of happiness and joy were left out of the service.

XXXXX

It was during this time that Xanxus decide to rear his bastard head and try to assert his dominance, he was quickly subdued and put back in his god-damned-fucking-place –Serious’ words this time- and Nono was forced to put him on ice, hoping that time and repentance could cool his hot head and ease his rage. Xanxus wasn’t sentimental, but even he was affected by the deaths of his brothers, being adopted not even a part of the issue.  
But that left Vongola shot. The once proud, strong family was not a lame race horse, it’s future hanging in the balance of the severity of its injuries and the tenacity of its soul. Only finding another heir, or someone suitable would save them, and only if that heir could carry the weight of a family on its last legs.  
They were really looking for a miracle at that point.  
Coyote sat his son down in one of the chairs outside Timoteo’s office one day, not a month after Federico’s funeral; Coyote had called his son down from his study asking for some privacy to talk about something of the utmost importance.  
“Timoteo has found an heir.”  
Alexander took a moment to think over those words. “Not related to him though?”  
“No,” Coyote’s voice held no small amount of pride, “a distant relation of Primo, so a distant relation of Timoteo I expect.”  
“Who is is?”  
“Young Lion’s son.”  
Alexander sighed heavily, he knew more about Young Lion’s son than he cared to admit, the idiotic blonde spouted nonsense about his family at ever given opportunity. From what Alexander had heard the boy was pretty useless. But what truth could Iemitsu tell as a man who never saw his son? Young lion was an amazing asset to Vongola, but the man could learn a thing or two about tact, family, and something called ‘priorities’.  
“Is it wise to let a civilian take over the family? Especially a son of Young Lion?”  
Coyote chuckled at the deadpan –with a little unease laced within- expression on his dear son’s face. His boy was observant but could learn a little bit of respect, especially for those who usually deserved some. But Coyote would admit he didn’t respect Iemitsu either.  
“Timoteo said that you’d probably mention that.” He chuckled, “He also told me to explain that young Tsunayoshi is a civilian version of Federico. He will grow up well with the right support.   
Alexander sighed heavily as his father made a move to stand. He understood why he was being told the news, as the storm guardian- just like his father- he lead the guardians via the boss’ instructions, it was his duty now to inform them of the new heir.  
“And what support is this Tsunayoshi getting?”  
“He is being trained by Reborn.”  
With a nod of understanding, and an eased heart, Alexander accepted a quick hug from his father before beginning his journey to collect his guardians; the first stop being Fiorde and Matthew who were probably with Bouche in the library.  
Alexander rounded the corner to find Fiorde pressed against the wall, hands behind his back with a sad look on his young, round face. His short, stylised hair covering his eyes as he looked to the ground, obviously the child had heard everything. Alexander raised an eyebrow but continued on his way towards the living room.   
“What are we going to do, Fratello?” Fiorde looked up into Alexander’s eyes, his own light blues searching for comfort and support. Being only eight he was lost and sad and confused.  
Reaching down and picking the light child up, Alexander walked towards the living room where their ‘brothers’ were waiting for them. “We’re just going to have to fulfil our duty aren’t we?”  
Fiorde looked contemplative for a moment, snuggling into Alexander’s neck as they walked through the quiet halls. “Is Tunayoshi nice, Alex?”  
Alexander chuckled lightly at the child’s mistake. “I don’t know, but Uncle-Timoteo says that he reminds him of Federico.”  
“He must be amazing then, because Federico was so warm.”

XXXXXX

Everything was fine in their famiglia. Enrico, Massimo and Federico were alive and well, training happened, balls were attended, everyone was happy. Fiorde and Matthew gravitated around Federico or Bouche and grew quickly. Nono smiled and the guardians laughed around a bottle of beer in the evening.  
Alexander, Stephano, James and Serious attended university and were receiving top honours, and they were just biding their time for the day they would finally step up as Decimo guardians when their fathers could finally retire and rest somewhere far, far away from all the greif and turmoil of the mafia and the blood they were made to spill in the name of family and tradition.  
But slowly, slowly that world of comfort and family was falling apart, in the space of two years, all three brothers had been shot down and killed in the most merciless and callous of ways. All three went down fighting, but that only soothed the part of the soul that worried about honour and valor. It didn’t heal the hold left behind from love and compassion.  
The six boys had been raised and trained to be Vongola Decimo’s guardians, they were lucky to all have at least one of the Dying Will flames, and each was blessed with the will and ability to harness them. Now that was all shot because their heirs were gone. Every single viable heir was gone.  
They were all bitter and all so disgusted.  
Disgusted by the way the Mafia worked, killing off viable heirs to begin about personal gain.  
Disgusted by how easily people accepted children being buried before they even became Don.  
Disgusted that now another heir was going to be forfeited; before he even knew what the Mafia was.  
The six boys quickly strode to Timotei’s office. They were all fidgeting, Alexander being the most composed. Matthew and Fiorde, both the youngest, and most innocent of the group clung to the legs of their fratellos, knowing that they had helped decide on this course of action and that no matter their age they too had to take responsibility.  
It destroyed them a little inside when they knocked and entered Timotei’s office. For each of them the office held different memories, but all of them were happy, and filled with a kind of family love and comfort.  
Alexander remembered when Enrico came charging into the office- they had been playing with their toy trains at the times while Timoteo was out running errands- with a grin splitting his face smugly. The four year old had promptly hugged the surprised red-head chanting happily. “We’re going to have a brother! My Maman’s pregnant!”  
Stephano could remember the hundreds of times during his childhood that Alexander, Massimo, Enrico, Federico and James had napped on the couches waiting for their fathers to get back from their meetings.  
For Matthew the office was a dark place where people often left steel-faced with burning eyes, but it was also where he could indefinitely find people who would cuddle him tightly. Federico was always found in the office, and Matthew found the older teen’s soothing, open personality welcoming.  
Fiorde didn’t have too many memories of the office, but he and his brothers would play pretend in there when Timoteo and the guardians were away, Enrico and Massimo would pretend to be the boss and Fiorde and Mathew would run around like maids until they tripped and everyone would laugh happily together.  
Serious could only remember his father taking him into the office and sitting him down one day last year, asking him in all seriousness if living with Timoteo and his brothers was what he really wanted to do. The office was an omen, but it also signified the heart of his family.  
So now, after all the love and compassion and care this room had filled them with, to see Timoteo, the man they gladly called their uncle, crumpled over the desk that sent people to die and sent people to be saved, it destroyed them and sent their hears tightening. Each man and boy felt a burn behind their eyes. This man was not the man they knew. The man they knew was strong. He was fierce and he let nothing destroy him. That this decision was wearing on him so much must mean that this child- this new Decimo-really was something.  
“Uncle-Timoteo?” it was embarrassing really, that even Alexander, at twenty-five years old called Timoteo by the family pet-name. Though, he really couldn’t bring himself to relieve the man of the name, it had been that way since he was young. If anything stuck with him it was his Italian heritage and the lessons that famiglia came before Famiglia.  
When the man made movement to show he was listening Stephano, ever the diplomat and the calm stepped forward, his light hair swaying around his waist. “We’ve made a decision, Uncle-Timoteo, and we think you should hear it.”  
“What can I do for you my boys?” his voice was broken, but he tried to sound ever so strong.  
“We’re going to train Decimo and his guardians.”  
Timoteo made a start; his blood-shot, tear filled yes fogging with the incredulous emotion of unease and disbelief.  
“We don’t want anyone else to die, Uncle-Timoteo.” Serious interjected. His tone was terse, but his timbre filled with warmth like chocolate.  
“We’ll make sure that Decimo lives to continue our famiglia, Uncle-Timoteo.” When James finished off his words, punctuated by smiles from the remaining boys, the old man who sat crumpled could not have looked more relieved, and more proud.  
“Thank you boys, thank you for the bottom of my heart.”

XXXXX

They were all young, none of them any older than their mid twenties, they were all juvenile, some were still growing and some had yet to learn all the ways of the world. But there was one thing the six friends could readily and painfully agree upon; nothing in their entire existence hurt more than losing three men whom were raised to be their brothers, and grown to be their best friends. Nothing hurt more than that, and they were determined to ensure nothing ever did.  
Alexander stepped forward first, he felt stirred by Decimo and his chosen guardians, and there was something pure and kind about them, something that sparked a kinship within his and his friends’ hearts. Something that, without protection and training, would be decimated and scorned by the Mafia world they were stepping into.  
“It’s nice to meet you, Tsunayoshi, my name is Alexander, we are here to train and protect you.”  
For all the pain Alexander, Stephano, Matthew, Fiorde, James and Serious had been through over the past few years, the smile of gratitude and promise they received from the young Decimo candidate told them that while their struggles were not over, this heir was worth the fight and their protection. They were also assured that they would not have a one-sided promise of protection.

**Author's Note:**

> This could be considered a somewhat prelude? If this is popular or people are interested I could plan chapters that flesh out Enrico, Massimo, Federico and their guardians. Otherwise I’ll let this fic lie, because it’s an OC story, and that isn’t usually popular.  
> Again, I ask you please be patient with my other fics, I never intended to let myself become an author who rarely updated, but things have happened and seeing as there have been unforeseen circumstances, I hope you understand.  
> Thank you, I love you all,  
> Bleach-ed-Na-tsu :3


End file.
